Shatter
by Rire
Summary: Parallel to Blitz. Zephyr meets and befriends the Lyoko Gang, but she has secrets as numerous and dark as each and every bruise, and as complex and deep as her pale, pale eyes...
1. Chapter 1

_**Introduction and Background **_

The story which follows is a parallel to the fanfic Blitz. Many key events will be changed or eliminated altogether, and other vital information will be added in as needed. This not the same story as Blitz. 

Anyhow, I've changed quite a bit from the original story, which was written in late 2005.

First, I've decided to add in quite a large amount of information about the pasts of Odd and especially Zephyr, and I'll probably write a story for each one of the characters with their family history, etc. after the completion of this one.

Okay, disclaimer for the entire story:

**Zephyr, Jack, Allil, and all other original characters (not found in the Code: LYOKO television series) are mine and are not to be used without permission. If you ask first, odds are that I will let you use one or more or even all of the characters under certain circumstances (no monetary gain, credit given, etc.). **

With that said, here's the framework of the characters:

When the story starts out it is the year 1974, and when it ends it is 2004. This may be tweaked later, but for the most part the story is simply modern and transcends time from the 1970s to the present day as technology and other such cultural aspects affected by time are significantly important to the story.

When it does get to the time when the Lyoko gang enters the story(at the boarding school, not in previous scenes, where their ages at that time will be mentioned), the characters and their ages and nationalities/countries of origin are as follows:

Series Characters 

_**Odd Della Robbia **_

**Age: **12

**Nationalities: **Norwegian, Italian

**Country of Origin:** Italy

_**Ulrich Stern**_

**Age: **12

**Nationalities: **German

**Country of Origin: **Germany

_**Jeremie Belpois**_

**Age: **11

**Nationalities: **French

**Country of Origin: **France

_**Yumi Ishyama**_

**Age: **13

**Nationalities: **Japanese

**Country of Origin: **Japan

_**Aelita Stone **_

**Age: **11

**Nationalities: **Dutch, Austrian

**Country of Origin: Holland **

Original Characters

_**Zephyr Blitz **_

**Age: **12

**Nationalities: **Irish, German, French

**Country of Origin: **Ireland


	2. Just a Little Pub in Ireland

-1_"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for." _

-Dag Hammarskjold

Chapter 1: Just a Little Pub in Ireland

It was one of those days which that little island country was famous for, a day of wet, cold, inescapable misery. The sky was angry and gray and lashing out at the Emerald Isle with torrents of cold stinging rain and gusts of frigid wind. The streets of Belfast were empty save a few people bent against the gales, determined to get home before the night snuck up upon them without a sunset.

Yet inside the pub it was cozy and warm and dry. Mugs of Guinness were passed around, and all laughed and smiled as the raised the glasses of black liquid to their happy lips, crying "Slainte! Slainte!" to each other before sipping and licking the foam happily from their lips. They clapped each other on the back, danced, sang, and in general had fun. All were happy to be out of the rain and cold and with friends.

All except one.

One man sat in the corner, trench coat still wrapped around his soaked body. He'd chosen a wise position, one in which he was tucked away from the excitement and thus left in peace, and he wasn't hit by the cold outside air when an individual seeking shelter decided to "stop in for a quick drink"- usually an hour-long affair.

He resembled a rather irritated and wet cat. Freezing drops of water dripped off the locks of his jet black and onto the worn wooden table. He shivered and looked absolutely pathetic as his glass-colored eyes stared longingly out at the smiling and laughing faces and as he drew his drenched coat more closely about him. All he wanted to do was go home.

Unfortunately, that was impossible. He'd left his home in France in a vain attempt to escape the grief and destruction his family was facing and failing to overcome. His world was coming apart around him, and the only thing he could do was bolt like a coward, like his worthless father.

His sister, his beautiful, gentle sister with the kindest soul he had ever known, had been hit by a car while she was walking home from work. No one saw what happened or knew who it was. There were no leads for the police, and it was only from the autopsy that Germaine's cause of death was discovered- blunt force trauma and internal bleeding consistent with the patterns of being slammed by a car.

His mother had been shell-shocked by the news and had withdrawn deeply into herself, trying to cope with the fact that her beautiful little Germaine, her only daughter, her firstborn, was gone. Her husband, Damon, had called in sick to work and stayed home, moping about the house as usual, expecting sympathy for someone else's pain, or, in this case, death. Jack's hands clenched and he had to stop from slamming a fist down on the Irish table in rage lest he attract attention. He resented his father with an intense passion. He'd never been there. Never. Not for him, not for his mother, not for his sister.

Jack's dislike of the man had actually made him and Germaine very close. She'd pretty much raised him as his father "tried" to get a job but instead came home late time and time again, smelling of unemployment and alcohol and anger, which he took out on them both, sometimes his wife as well. This too made Jack unimaginably angry, for his mother had worked herself to the bone supporting her two children. She'd work any job, any hours just to compensate for her husband. She was a peace maker by nature, and jumped to the defense of her husband whenever one of the kids made an angry comment, but she'd comfort them when they were black and blue and tell them to "put on a brave face" and she showed them how to hide their bruises.

So Jack and Germaine learned quickly that they wanted to be anyone but their father. They worked hard in school, never touched alcohol, picked up jobs as soon as they hit legal labor age and turned everything over to their mother. Germaine had been picking up her father's endless slack when she'd been killed. Jack ground his teeth as he remembered the pain they'd all endured, the work they'd done so his father could say "sorry" like it was a free pass and keep "trying."

Through this hardship Jack also learned that Germaine was the only constant in his life. His mother often worked late and when she was home she was doing housework or leaving to run errands. Thinking back, Jack couldn't remember a time when his mother hadn't been completely exhausted. It was Germaine who walked him to school. It was Germaine who played with him, no matter what game his young mind had thought of. It was Germaine who'd walked him to doctors' appointments and who had taught him to look both ways before crossing the street. Germaine, who pushed him on the swings, was gone. Germaine, who defended him from the mean kids at school, was gone. Germaine, his sister, who had raised him. Germaine, who had raised him, was gone.

A few wet salty drops of water landed on the pub's table. He didn't really try and stop them, but just doggedly wiped them away as they came. He couldn't push her out of his mind. Everything reminded him of her. The people laughing reminded him how she used to laugh, how she used to smile. It made him a wreck and he soon found himself pushed as far against the wall as he could get, sobbing. No one heard him over the music and joy that their own lives brought them.

His life was gone. He was broke, alone, shattered, and scared. Above all, he was wet.

Hours dragged themselves along, and slowly the customers left, one by one, to brave the storm on their way home. Jack remained in his soaking corner, fermenting in his own bitterness, fighting his own storm, but not getting where he wanted to be. His crying had left him, as had the energy to do much of anything but sit and watch the people. His head pounded and throbbed, his eyes swelled, his mouth dried. He thought of Germaine, and how life wasn't fair, even in the way it killed you.

Soon the pub was empty except for the staff and Jack, who shivered, for the warm atmosphere he'd looked in on had vanished. A waitress wiped the counter with a wet rag, hot so it steamed as it cleaned the wooden bar top. In the back he could hear the sounds of clinking dishes and running water. The rain still assaulted the windows.

Suddenly, the calm, cool aura of the pub was disrupted as the waitress looked up from her wiping and smiled at the sound of the door opening, the bell above it tinkling, and the figure hung up a wet, dripping coat. The waitress put her hands on her thin and bony hips and proclaimed in a thick Irish accent with a laugh,

"Well, I do declare, Anora, you're wetter than a drowned rat. Should I be makin' ya some tea, then?"

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Wow, this chapter took me a long time. Sorry it took awhile, but I've been spending a lot of time with my horse, and I kept tweaking this chapter. The next one will be up soon, I promise! Thanks for reading!


	3. Of bedtime and Mass

-1Anora sat in the kitchen, holding her head in her hands, elbows propped on the table. A smile graced her gorgeous features as she looked up from her book and saw her husband sitting in his armchair, the comics page in hand. He had their daughter perched on his lap and was reading the strips to her aloud, complete with empassioned voices befitting each character. The toddler laughed and smiled as her father's smooth French rolled into her ears like the softest thunder.

"Daddy, he looks mad," The small child declared, pointing to an angry drawing on the page.

"Well, he is darling," he replied, smiling, "See, this guy just tricked him."

"Oh!" She exclaimed, understanding. She looked at the picture for a moment, as if contemplating. She looked at ther father's gentle face.

"Daddy, do you ever get mad?" She asked, peering up at him. He smiled at her. At three years old she had the brightest smile and the most curious pale eyes. Her hair was a coppery blonde color.

"Yes, love, of course. Everyone gets mad," he explained softly, "But the important thing is to not let it get the best of you and remember that things will turn out alright."

He knew his daughter did not understand, but she turned and looked once more at the newspaper.

"You should tell him that, Daddy," She said, pointing. "You're really smart. Will I be as smart as you one day?"

"Of course you will," Jack said, smiling once more. "Hey, you probably are already really smart! Can you tell me what time it is?"

The child's joyful expression fell and she heaved a sigh. "Time for bed," she grumbled.

"You got it, kid," He laughed, rising with her in his arms.

"Mommy, you have to come help tuck me in!" The child informed, spotting Anora. The woman rose.

"Of course, sweetheart," she smiled.

"Goodnight, Mommy." The child said tiredly once they'd arrived in her room.

"Goodnight, love. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Daddy," She said next, wrapping her little arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled at the sensation of her eyelashes against his skin.

"Goodnight, Zephyr," He replied softly, leaving her bed to walk to the door. He clicked the light off on his way out. Now he and Anora remained in the hallway. After a few moments their daughter was asleep.

"She looks a lot like you," Jack stated, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as they gazed upon their child who had a sliver of hallway light falling upon her face.

"Ah, and she has your eyes." Jack smiled once more and took his wife's hand. They walked down the hallway toward the kitchen together.

"Yes, my darling, and your heart."

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"Odd? Wake up, Odd, it's time to go to Mass." The young blonde girl shook her brother's shoulder, to no avail. She sighed.

"Odd, Dad's going to make us sit through two Masses if you make us late(1). C'mon, get up!"

"Okay, Rose, I'm coming," came the reply from under the covers. The small boy's head appeared, hair mussed from sleep. He blinked his dark eyes and yawned before sighing and getting out of bed. His older sister, already dressed for the service, handed her smaller brother the clothes he was to wear that morning. She helped him dress and tried to answer his never-ending questions as best an eight-year-old can.

"How come we have to go to Mass anyway? We can't understand anything." His sister shrugged.

"Dad says it's because God wants us to and if we want to go to Heaven we'd better do it."

"When I go to Heaven, will Eric be there?" He asked.

"I don't know, probably." Rose answered, just a bit less patiently.

"Well if I have to stay in Heaven forever I don't want Eric there."

"Odd! He's our brother!"

"So?"

Rose smiled as she led him to the bathroom and wet his hair to manage it.

"You're like, a sheep or something. You have more hair than I do!"

Before she chould stop her brother he had formed his wet hair into one big spike with his hands.

"Haha!" He laughed, almost triumphantly. Rose simply took his comb and started smoothing it out, resulting in protest.

"Hey!"

"What? You look like a weirdo! you can't go to Mass like that!"

"Fine. But I don't see why not. God gave me this hair and I want it up!"

Rose laughed again as she finished smoothing her brother's hair. "You're so weird. C'mon, let's get Mom to do your tie."

---------------------------

(1)- This actually comes from my own dad's childhood. If they were even one minute late to Mass they had to stay through that service and the next one.

I know, the cut-oof is abrupt but I went on unscheduled hiatus and to be honest I want to get through these first few chapters ASAP and get to the meat of the story. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. They'd Tried

Sorry again for the hiatus guys

Sorry again for the hiatus guys! I'm getting this chapter up thanks to the wonderful Spring Break. The weather here has been absolutely gorgeous so I've been spending more time outside rather than on the computer. Only 6 more weeks left of school and then updates should be a lot less sporadic.

Here we go! Chapter 3!

Zephyr was a big girl now. Seven years old was too big to sit in Dad's lap and read comics. Seven was too big to be tucked in. She did remember how, when she was little, how she used to climb into her father's lap after he got home from work and he would tell her stories and let her sip his coffee sometimes, when he wasn't tired. They used to have company over often, and she'd listen to their soft chatter flit around the warmly lit room like so many sparrows before she fell into a deep, untroubled slumber. Before she went completely into unconciousness she liked to pick out her parents' voices. She was lulled by the sound of Dad's breathing, his heart beating calmly in his chest.

Company didn't come anymore.

Now when she returned home from school she went almost immediately to her room. Her mother's schedule was sporadic and Zephyr's housekey was used extremely often. Her father didn't return home from work until after it was dark. Sometimes her mother came home afterward, and they'd argue.

"Where have you _been_, Anora?"

"I've been out, Jack. I had errands to run and I grabbed a drink at the bar. You're not my keeper."

Arguing was not exactly new to Zephyr's ears; everyone's parents fought at one point or another. But this arguing was different. It seemed pointless and spontanious. They would go to bed angry; nothing was resolved. The words had more fire, their intentions to cut and hurt. Her parents flung insults at each other as children do.

Zephyr shut her door to the argument and went to the side of her bed, praying.

"God, I'm sorry we haven't been at church lately. Mom and Dad...I don't think they want to go anymore. Don't be too hard on them. They try, they do. It's just hard. It must be. I'd appreciate if you could help them out a bit. Amen."

She was about to change and climb into bed when she heard her mother calling her.

"Zephyr! Zephyr come down here!" The voice was stern and angry. Not violent, but not the maternal voice she loved, either. Kindness was absent from the tone. It scared her. But big girls are brave. She crept down the hall and stood timidly in front of her fuming parents.

"Yes, Momma?" She asked, swallowing hard. She'd always been able to hide when they fought. Now she was out in the open in front of their anger. She'd never seen them like this.

"Tell your father I left a note for you telling you where I was. Go on, tell him. You saw the note, didn't you?"

Note? No one had ever left Zephyr a note. She was confused and shook her head in a negative gesture. Her mother must be mistaken.

"N-no, Momma. You don't leave notes." Her mother's face clouded and her father winked at her before turning angrily to his wife.

"You can't even leave a note for her?" He yelled. "What are you doing drinking, anyway? You should be here taking care of her!"

"I'm here more than you are!" She shot back. Anora possessed the classic red-head Irish temper. She was fiesty and not afraid of her husband or, it seemed, anyone else. "And you should talk about drinking." The adults had forgotten their child, and she watched them, scared to retreat. Instead she observed her parents and their frantic mannerisms.

Her mother had stopped caring about herself as much as she used to. She used to like to dress nicely for when her husband returned from work. Now her clothes were wrinkled and her eyes were bloodshot. Zephyr noted the smell of cigarettes emanating from her, along with another scent she couldn't identify.

Her father was stressed. His hair was just barely turing gray at his temples, and he had large bags under his eyes. Often his voice was cracked and hoarse. He almost never smiled.

The argument grew heated and the small girl shrank back as her father did something she'd never seen him do before.

He raised his hand against Anora.

"No, Da!" Zephyr screamed, confused. This was not her father. This had to be someone else. "Don't let it get the best of you!"

Jack looked at her and stopped. The tears had srpung to his eyes already. He knew what was happening to his family and he couldn't stop the downward spiral. He lowered his hand, strode into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle from the fridge, and made his way tiredly to the bedroom he usually shared with his wife, and slammed the door. Anora shrank into the armchair in the living room, lighting a cigarette. After a few moments she saw her daughter staring at her.

"Go to bed, Zeph," She commanded, hoarse but firm. Zephyr shot to her bedroom and closed the door. She shrank to her knees once again.

"They try, they do."

Zephyr's life fell into a pattern. As she grew, she became accustomed to the abscence of at least one of her parents and the despondance of the other. Her mother constantly had a cigarette between her once lively lips, and her father almost always had a bottle in his hand.

When Jack drank, his temper became horrible. He went from raising his hand to actually striking Anora, and eventually Zephyr as well.

The first time it happened she felt it as a blow far worse than it once. He'd smacked her across the face for not being in bed on time. It shocked her more than anything. Tears sprung to her eyes and she tried to pull away from her father, who softened and apologized repeatedly. She forgave him for hitting her, at least until he began hitting her out of anger and not for reasons of discipline.

She learned quickly to hide her bruises; she knew that if anyone found out they'd take her dad away, and then who would she have? Her mother disappeared for days on end with no calls. She'd reappear, glowing, but when her gaze fell upon Jack she'd glare, almost with a sadistic triumph. She had bruises too.

They tried, they did.

One day, when Zephyr was ten years old, she came home from school to an unlocked door. There was a man's jacket and hat on the table, but they weren't her father's- he never wore hats and the only jacket he wouldn't refuse to wear was one of the ancient jean variety. The smeel that wafted from them was familiar- it was that stench she'd detected on her mother. Her parents' bedroom door was closed and, she discovered, locked. The sounds coming from behind it scared her back into the kitchen, where she stayed utnil a few minutes later, when, surprisingly, her father came home.

His eyes were clear and looked years younger. He smiled as he saw her.

"Hey, Zeph," He laughed, swooping her up in his arms. She laughed. Her dad was home. After all this time he was home. "You know what? I'm tired of living like this. I got a raise today. We can move to a nicer apartment in a nicer area, and we can leave all this behind. Tonight we can-"

He stopped and froze mid-sentence, staring at the hat and jacket on the table.

"W-what's that?" He asked, putting Zephyr gently on the floor. She shrugged. Anora laughed from the bedroom as the door opened and she stepped out in her robe. She saw her husband and child in the kitchen and stopped, the elusive smile disappearing.

"Oh, you guys are home," she began nervously.

"What the hell is this?" Jack asked, holding the garments in his hand, thrusting them at her.

"Oh, um, those are...uh..." She couldn't think of anything to offer. Before anyone could say another word a man came out of the bedroom, buttoning up his shirt and zipping up his pants.

"Hey, now, what's going on, 'Nora?" He asked. He blanched when he saw the angry husband glowering at him, jaw clenched.

The man was tall and blond, his eyes blue, his smile charismatic. Zephyr thought him handsome, but her father's expression told her not to fall for anything. Her mother looked like a deer looking down the barrel of a gun.

"Get out," her father growled, hurling the hat and jacket at him. the man put his hat on and touched the rim of it with his middle and index fingers as he passed Zephyr.

"Neal, you don't have to-" Anora began, but Jack shut the door in the interloper's face. He looked to Zephyr as if the anger was just a last-ditch effort not to collapse. He looked crushed.

"Neal? That's his name? Goddammit, Anora. He leaned against the wall, running a hand down his face, then rubbing his eyes and supporting his forehead with the same hand. After a few moments he kicked a kitchen chair over. "Why are you such a whore? God, why'd you do this to us?" He smacke dher, harder than he ever had before, and got a bottle from the fridge. Before he could sit down and open it Anora had retreated in tears to the bedroom and Jack himself collapsed, sobbing into his folded arms. His daughter, nearly in tears herself simply because she didn't understand, went to hug her father. He pushed her away. She left for her bedroom.

A few weeks later, a man in a suit and tie came to the apartment. Zephyr's mother and father signed some boring-looking documents. A few days after that, Anora dropped her wedding band on the table and walked out with a suitcase in hand. Zephyr watched, crying, from her window as she got into a car with Neal. She grabbed the wedding band and hid it in her drawer before her father found it. Her family was gone.

They'd tried, they had.

Rire in: Yes, closer to the meat! I'll try my best to get the next chapter up shortly!


End file.
